


In Winter

by Thistlerose



Category: The Welsh Princes Trilogy - Sharon Kay Penman
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Middle Ages, Self-Reflection, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John spots two of his children having a snowball fight, and does some reflecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



John was walking across the snow-covered bailey when he heard a shriek. Thinking that one of his men might be abusing a kitchen maid – as was their wont, despite his stern admonishments – he stopped. He heard another shriek, high and startled. Then his seven-year-old daughter stumbled into view, hotly pursued by her half-brother, Richard. 

Joanna’s surcoat was drenched from the knees downward. Her long black hair hung in wet tangles down her back. As John watched, Richard scooped up a handful of snow and lobbed it at his sister. It hit her squarely in the back, and John winced as she went down in the snow, face-first. He started toward her instinctively, but she was back up before he’d gone three paces, pushing herself to her feet and launching herself at Richard with a howl that was half outrage, half laughter. 

Joanna tackled Richard about the waist, knocking him off balance. He took her down with him, and they landed side by side in the snow. They lay there giggling for a few moments. Then Richard seized a handful of snow and pushed it into Joanna face, and she, spluttering, climbed to her knees and began to pummel his chest with her small hands.

John smiled as he watched them, though he couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of bitterness that had nothing to do with his children. He tried to recall if he’d ever seen any of his older brothers or sisters playing in the snow; if ever he had, he would have been very young... But no, he didn’t think that he had. For certes, he’d never played with them as Richard and Joanna were playing. 

Just as well, John thought, for if there had been any pleasant childhood memories, his parents’ machinations might have hurt all the more. (That they had hurt at all was a secret he would not share with anyone, even his half-brother Will.) When Joanna first came to him, after her mother’s death, he’d promised himself that he would never use his own children against one another. Standing there in the snow-filled bailey, he silently made that promise again.

_Let them have this. Let them have each other._

A snowball thumped him in the arm, startling him. 

“Oh! I am sorry, Papa!” Joanna came running up to him, her green-flecked eyes – so like his mother, Eleanor’s, and his own – wide with chagrin. “I’m sorry, it was an accident. I didn’t see you there.” She stopped when she neared him and bit her lip, as if she wanted to make it better, but wasn’t sure how. “I’m sorry,” she said again, rather meekly.

“It’s all right, Joanna. You’ve done no harm. Now, if you should happen to hit Maude de Braose by ‘accident’...” But she still seemed to be expecting his wrath. “It’s all right, lass,” he assured her with a sigh, petting her hair affectionately. “I’ve received worse blows in battle, and lived to tell.”

“Truly?” said Joanna.

“Truly, lass.” John laughed and, after a moment, so did she. “Of course,” he went on, crouching down so that they were eye to eye, not caring that the fox-fur lining of his cloak was now trailing in the snow, “we’ll have to work on your aim. Shall we practice on Richard?”

Her eyes lit up, but she seemed uncertain. “Is that fair, Papa?”

“Fair? Perhaps not. But it’s just a game, after all.”

“I suppose...” She glanced over her shoulder at Richard, who stood waiting several paces back.

“Or,” said John, remembering his promise, even though he was fairly certain it didn’t need to apply in this particular instance, “you and Richard could practice on me. I daresay he could use the practice as well.”

Joanna turned back to him, and now a glow suffused her features and her smile didn’t waver. “I like that idea better,” she admitted.

“I thought you might. Very well, then. You’d best run. For, I warn you, lass,” he said, picking up a handful of snow and patting it into a ball, “my aim is sure.”

With a squeal, she turned and fled, knocking into Richard who, having had no warning, was taken by surprise. John gave them a moment or two to right themselves, before starting after them with a fierce roar.

12/24/2013

**Author's Note:**

> Like you, I found Sharon Kay Penman's portrayal of John in "Here Be Dragons" intriguing. She doesn't gloss over the horrible things he did (the probable murder of Arthur, the hanging of the Welsh hostages, etc.) but she humanizes him in a way that I think few other authors have done. I wasn't trying to whitewash him here, but rather show a glimpse of one of his (arguably few *g*) admirable qualities.


End file.
